


Down To Luck

by Tangela



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/pseuds/Tangela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started as a conversation is quickly derailed by Chekov's impulsive thinking. (Written as a fill for a prompt on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down To Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Two smut fics posted in one day, what is the world coming to? This was written for Exorin, as we came up with the idea of McCoy trying to give Chekov The Talk after his escapades with the Captain (which can be found on her ao3, and they're amazing), and Chekov taking the conversation in a whole other direction. This is essentially just shameless smut. Enjoy!

“You vanted to see me, Doctor?”

“Mr. Chekov, glad you could find time in your busy schedule to join me. Sit down.” He gestures towards the empty seat at his desk, and Chekov obliges. He’s a little nervous, if he’s honest, he hasn’t had many opportunities to spend time with McCoy, and the doctor’s sharp tongue and quick temper are practically infamous among the crew.

“I’ve been hearin’ things, you know how things travel around this ship, nobody can keep anything a secret for long.” McCoy looks at Chekov sternly, and he can’t help but fidget in his seat, his eyes are so intense. “I wanted to see you out of concern, not to lecture you. You’re young, your hormones are probably runnin’ riot-“

Chekov has to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing right in McCoy’s face. ‘ _Is he honestly giving me the talk?’_ He tries to focus on what the doctor’s saying, but it’s making it almost impossible for him to keep a straight face, so he redirects his attention, watching McCoy as he talks rather than listening, studying his face and movements – how one eyebrow raises slightly higher than the other, how steady and strong his hands look, the fullness of his mouth and fuck, Chekov has to stop him right there, forcing himself to listen to McCoy again. He’d rather deal with the repercussions of his cracking up laughing than McCoy questioning just why the hell he’s sitting there with a hard-on.

“-and you could contract any number of diseases and viruses if you’re not careful, the galaxy’s riddled with them. And there are always people who will want to take advantage-“

And Chekov can’t help himself, it just slips out. “And are you one of those people, Doctor?” _‘…Shit. Vell, I’ve said it now. Too late to take it back.’_

McCoy stops mid-sentence, eyes wide and eyebrow raised. “Just what in the hell are you implyin’, Chekov?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

Chekov reaches out to take McCoy’s hand in his own, and McCoy flinches as if he’s been burned, but he doesn’t pull away, just stares at Chekov as if he’s in a trance. Chekov keeps his gaze, pressing a kiss to the tip of McCoy’s index finger before letting it sink into the warmth of his mouth. McCoy can’t move, can’t talk, can’t even think, just watches Chekov in utter fascination.

Chekov pulls back, a smile playing on his lips as he lets go of McCoy’s hand, as if nothing happened.

“I can leave and we can both pretend this never happened,” he starts, voice low and steady as he rises from his chair and stands in front of a very bewildered McCoy. “Or-“ Chekov leans in close, mouth oh so close to McCoy’s. “I can give you a taste of the rumours that you’ve been hearing about me?”

McCoy swallows hard, fingers gripping the arms of his chair hard enough to leave indents.

“I suppose the Keptin has been telling you things, mm?” he continues, his voice thick with lust, eyes searching McCoy’s face for any change of expression, the slightest movement.  “I’m sure you know by now that he and I have been…shall ve say, intimate? Is that vhy you called me here? You’re vorried that I’m letting people use me because I am young and don’t know any better?” Chekov lets out a little laugh, breath against McCoy’s skin. “Please. I am an adult. I know vhat I am doing. But I appreciate your concern, Doctor.” He leans in ever so slightly, his lips gently brushing against McCoy’s.

It’s as if someone has flipped a switch in McCoy, and he grabs Chekov’s shoulders, pressing their lips together in a hard kiss. He’s not made of stone, dammit, just how in the hell is he supposed to say no when Chekov’s practically throwing himself at him? At least he can say he tried. But God is he going to give Jim Hell for this later, this is obviously his fault. Chekov was such a sweet little thing before Jim, and now look at him.

Chekov pushes McCoy back in his chair, still kissing him as he climbs into his lap. McCoy gasps at his sudden movement, air forced from his lungs as if he’s been punched, and Chekov pulls back, looking down at him with a sly smile as he makes himself comfortable.

“Now don’t look at me like that, sir,” he scolds, as if he were reprimanding a child, “I gave you a chance to say no and you did not take it.”

McCoy can’t exactly fault his logic, but he doesn’t appreciate his tone, fisting his hands into Chekov’s shirt and pulling him down to kiss him again, harder this time, teeth biting into his skin. Chekov hisses at the sudden shock of adrenaline that shoots through his body to his cock, and he wraps his arms around McCoy’s neck, pressing himself close to his chest, needing some kind of friction.

McCoy raises an eyebrow as he feels Chekov’s hard cock against his stomach and he trails his hands down to Chekov’s trousers, undoing them and slipping a hand into his pants. His fingers graze Chekov’s cock and Chekov breaks the kiss with a gasp, more startled by the fact that McCoy had given in to him so easily rather than his touch itself. But fuck does that feel good – strong fingers around his cock, stroking languidly while the other pulled his trousers and pants further down around his thighs.

“I could make you come from just this, Ensign,” McCoy tells him in a low voice, hand still stroking him, and Chekov can’t stop the obscene moan that escapes his throat - McCoy’s drawl is so thick and heavy now, like dripping honey.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he manages, hips moving in time with McCoy’s hand.

“And why’s that, hm?”

Chekov rests his hands on McCoy’s shoulder to keep himself balanced as he leans in close to kiss McCoy again. “Because I’d really like to have you inside me…sir,” he murmurs breathlessly, drawing out the last word and watching the effect it has on McCoy. He obviously enjoys being in control, he thinks to himself, and by no means is he complaining, considering how much of a mess McCoy’s made him from one hand alone.

McCoy removes his hands from Chekov, and Chekov can’t help the needy whine that escapes him. McCoy ignores him, sliding his hands under Chekov’s thighs and lifting him, standing up as if he’s weightless. Chekov yelps and clings to McCoy, scared that’ll he drop him. McCoy just laughs, setting him down on the desk. Chekov wraps his legs around McCoy’s waist, kissing him hard as McCoy trails his fingers up under his shirt, his stomach clenching under the doctor’s touch.

Chekov barely has time to register what’s going on when McCoy suddenly has him turned around and bent over the desk, fingers digging into his hips and holding him in place.

“Be a good boy and keep your hands to yourself,” he says, in such a tone of authority that Chekov doesn’t even think to question him, keeping his hands flat on the table where McCoy can see them. Any plans of messing with McCoy were long gone, Chekov had had a fleeting suspicion that McCoy could assert himself if he wanted to, but Christ not like this. He’s almost like the Captain – so calm and in command and _filthy_ all at once. Chekov barely has time to let the thought of both Kirk and McCoy having their way with him flit through his mind when he feels McCoy’s now wet fingers pressing gently at his hole, index finger eventually pushing inside, slowly stretching him open. He’s barely pushing a second finger in, and Chekov can’t help it, McCoy’s worked him up so much already that he can’t stop himself from pushing himself back on McCoy’s fingers, riding them like he has no shame at all. And honestly, right now he doesn’t. His whole body jolts and he almost loses it right there and then when he feels McCoy’s _tongue_ pressing against his hole along with his fingers, a third gradually working into him, and he can’t wait much longer, _fuck_ , he needs McCoy now and he needs him _now._ He whines, almost on the verge of tears, when McCoy pulls away from him.

McCoy clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Spoiled brat. You’re used to clickin’ your fingers and gettin’ whatever you want from Jim, aren’t you?” He runs a hand gently through Chekov’s curls, and Chekov presses back against McCoy. “Patience, darlin’, I’ll give you what you want.”

Chekov’s hands are clenched into fists, he’s so impatient, desperate to touch himself when McCoy finally, _finally_ pushes into him and Chekov lets out a long, needy moan, pushing himself back on McCoy’s cock eagerly. McCoy’s hands are on Chekov’s hips, strong fingers biting bruises into his pale skin, and Chekov couldn’t keep himself quiet if he tried – moaning and whining like a goddamn slut. McCoy wants to tease him more, really make him unravel, but the sounds he’s making, his body clenching around McCoy’s cock, he can’t drag this out any longer, he needs to fuck Chekov, needs to come. He leans forward, driving into Chekov harder as he grabs his hair, pressing hard kisses against the back of his neck. Chekov’s a wreck, his cock achingly hard, desperate to come.

“Touch yourself, Pavel,” he practically growls in Chekov’s ear, and Chekov eagerly obliges, wrapping his slender fingers around his cock, shivers running down his spine at hearing his first name said in such a debauched manner.

It doesn’t take Chekov long before he’s coming, breathing erratic as McCoy thrusts into him at an almost frantic pace, following him over the edge barely a minute later.

Chekov collapses against the wood of the desk, completely spent, whimpering as McCoy pulls out of him. He barely registers his trousers gently being tugged up and McCoy sliding his arms around his waist, pulling him into his lap as he sits down. Chekov rests his head against McCoy’s shoulder, still unable to move. McCoy presses a light kiss to his cheek, brushing his damp curls from his burning forehead.

“You know I really should thank Jim,” he says at last and Chekov scoffs, breathing beginning to return to normal.

“Please. You should be thanking me,” he corrects, and Leonard nods.

“You’re right, I should,” he concedes, nipping at Chekov’s earlobe just hard enough to make him gasp, “Thank you, darlin’.”

McCoy makes a mental note not to give Jim Hell. This time, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still new to writing smut, so I hope this was okay. Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you liked it and have a prompt or something, feel free to stop by my [tumblr](http://tanjell-o.tumblr.com/ask)and drop me an ask!


End file.
